


Just An Angel

by Aini_NuFire



Series: More Than [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Castiel Whump, Emotionally Constipated Dean, Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Gen, Guilty Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 12, episode AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: A case of someone targeting angels will put Team Free Will’s bond to the test, and challenge their notions of human vs. other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from Miyth. I'm borrowing the set-up from 12x10 with the angel Benjamin being killed, but this story is a complete AU and there's no Lily Sunder (or Ishim).
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank you 29Pieces for beta reading!

 

Sam padded into the War Room with his cup of morning coffee, and spotted Dean already there with his own cup of steaming brew, looking over the board Cas had set up with newspaper clippings, Kelly Kline's picture, and a map tacked all over it.

"Yeah, I was looking at that earlier," Sam said, setting his cup down. "Cas has been busy, huh?"

"Yeah, busy not finding Kelly Kline. Or her Rosemary's baby," Dean replied somewhat harshly. "I mean, how's a chick like this just drop off the map?"

Sam took a seat, stretching out some of the lingering lethargy of sleep in his legs. "Well, I think that's what he's trying to figure out." He paused. "Hey, you, uh, you hear from Mom yet?"

"Yeah, she called last night, said she's got a line on a shapeshifter in Atlanta." Dean moved away from the board and sat against the edge of the map table. "I said we could come help, and she said, 'Don't bother.' Apparently, she's 'got it.'" He probably would have added the air quotes if he wasn't holding the cup, which he lifted to take a sip from.

Sam huffed, wondering if Dean realized how similar the two of them sounded. "Then she's probably got it."

"Yeah," Dean snorted.

Sam angled a look up at his brother, recognizing the gruffness as a front for concern. "Mom's good," he said. She was a better hunter than they'd given her credit for.

"I just think she jumped back into this a little quick, don't you?" Dean replied.

Yeah, Mom had barely stuck around after they'd escaped from the government detention center, and now she was hunting again, even though prior to that she'd said she didn't want to. But Sam of all people knew how hard it was to escape that kind of life, especially when it was in your blood.

"I don't think we have the kind of mom who's gonna stay home and make us chicken soup for dinner, you know?" he pointed out.

Dean let out an annoyed sound as he looked away, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Sam knew this was only one layer to his brother's frustration. "You talk to Cas yet?" he asked.

"No."

Sam shook his head at his brother's pigheadedness. "So, what, you're just gonna keep walking past each other in the kitchen, not saying a word?"

"Maybe," Dean replied quickly, taking a long sip of coffee as though that would put an end to this conversation. But Sam was tired of it dragging out like it was.

"Look, yes, Cas killed Billie, but he saved us. He  _saved Mom_. How long are you gonna stay pissed?"

"I'm not pissed that he cares about us, you know. I'm- I'm grateful."

Sam narrowed his gaze, even though Dean sounded sincere.

"But Billie said there would be ' _cosmic_  consequences' if that deal got broken. You have any idea what that means?"

"No," Sam reluctantly replied.

"Neither do I," Dean said. "But I'm pretty sure it ain't jellybeans and g-strings."

Sam rolled his eyes. "My point is, Cas thought he was doing the right thing."

"I was doing the right thing."

Sam jolted as Cas strode into the room.

"You sure about that?" Dean responded.

Cas's answer was immediate and obstinate. "Yes."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not so sure," Dean went on. "And when the other shoe drops—"

"I'll deal with it," Cas snipped, continuing on his way past them. "I have to go."

Sam swiveled in his chair. "Got a lead on Kelly?" he asked hopefully.

"No." Cas paused at the base of the steps to turn back around. "This is personal."

"Meaning what?" Dean demanded.

"Another angel—an old friend—he called out for help."

Sam's brows rose a fraction. Huh, that was different.

"Oh. Good old reliable angel radio," Dean snarked.

Sam flicked a sidelong glance of annoyance at his brother.

"He was begging for help," Cas continued. "And then he just stopped. I need to know if he's still alive."

"Yeah, alright," Sam said, getting to his feet. "Well, we'll come with you."

Cas canted his head and threw Dean a questioning, somewhat doubting look. "Both of you?"

Sam turned to give his brother an expectant brow raise. Dean averted his gaze for a moment before replying blithely,

"Sure. Yeah, we can help. And make sure you don't do anything else stupid."

Cas snorted out a sigh and shook his head in clear vexation. Sam shot Dean a supreme bitch-face, because really? He couldn't stow his crap for a potential case? An angel disappearing sounded like something Cas,  _another_  angel, shouldn't just go walking into to investigate alone. Sam certainly wasn't planning on letting him, anyway.

Dean caught Sam's disapproving look, and for a split second, there was almost a flash of remorse, but then he just cocked his head like 'whatever.' Sam rolled his eyes. Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

"We'll get our bags," Sam said.

Cas threw an impatient look at the door. "Alright. Just- please don't dawdle. Benjamin, he was…screaming."

Sam's mouth turned down. Yeah, that didn't sound good at all. Dean, thankfully, didn't make any more snide remarks, and it was a good thing they always kept their go-bags ready, so it only took them a minute to get their gear and meet at the top of the landing. Then the three of them filed out to the Impala, each taking their respective seats. They fit, in a way that had everything to do with belonging and not just three bodies taking up space.

Except the latter was exactly what it felt like after several hours on the road and Dean and Cas  _still_  not saying a word to each other. The only sound was the Impala's engine rumbling as it devoured the road, the windows dotted with raindrops from the storm they'd just finished passing through.

Sam glanced at Dean, rubbed his chin in mounting irritation, craned a look over his shoulder at Cas. The angel's jaw was stiff, as was his posture. Cas looked away. Sam straightened forward again and brushed some hair out of his face. He was getting really fed up with this…

"Alright, who wants music?" he said, and reached for the cassette player.

"I'm good," Dean immediately said.

Sam did a rapid double-take, brows flying upward at his brother. "You're…" he trailed off into a grinding sigh. "Okay."

Sam sucked on his bottom lip for another moment. The silence was driving him crazy. He fidgeted in his seat. "Cas, is there anything specific we should know about your friend?"

Cas didn't answer, and when Sam glanced behind him, he found the angel pointedly looking away again. For the love of… Why did he have to get stuck with the two most emotionally constipated people on the planet?

"Alright," Sam said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was so done with this shit. "Guys, you know what? This- this silent treatment, it's silly. It's not gonna work. Whatever we're walking into, we should, you know, probably have an actual plan."

Cas let out a heavy sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, he speaks," Dean jabbed.

"Hey, enough," Sam interrupted, waving a weary hand at his stupid brother. They needed to focus here. "Cas, you said when you heard Benjamin, he- he was screaming."

"It was, um…" Cas sounded shaken. "Look, Benjamin wouldn't call for help lightly. And he wouldn't put himself in harm's way if he could help it."

"Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know," Dean put in. "Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices."

"Yeah, you know what I like about him?" Cas immediately responded. "Is that he's sarcastic, but he's  _thoughtful_  and appreciative, too."

Dean twisted around. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Okay, okay, the road, road!" Sam cut in, lashing out for the steering wheel as a passing car in the opposite lane blared its horn. "Dude, watch the road."

Dean turned back around, expression stern. Sam just gave him a 'what the hell' look.

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "I got it."

Sam let out a tense breath. Right. "Anything else, Cas?" he asked, his own nerves now past the completely frayed point.

Cas let out another audible sigh, this one more seemingly focused on the situation and not Dean's reckless driving, at least. "Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it…" Cas huffed as though struggling for how to explain. "She gave him everything—her trust and her body."

"Wait, so Benjamin's a woman," Dean said.

"Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman," Cas replied, some of that condescending annoyance seeping back into his tone. "But it- it's more than that. She's not just his vessel. She's…"

Sam frowned, until he got it. "She's…his friend." And if he sounded somewhat disbelieving over that, it wasn't like they'd had much experience with angels caring about their vessels. Even Cas never really gave much thought to Jimmy Novak…not until later, when Jimmy's soul had gone to Heaven, anyway.

"Yeah," Cas said heavily. "Benjamin would…never put her in unnecessary danger."

"Okay, well," Dean joined in, finally losing the snark and getting his head in the game. "If this Benjamin is so careful, then what happened?"

"I don't know," Cas replied. "That's what I need to find out."

The car fell silent again, this time with a more morose air as they considered the implications of that. Sam, at least, was glad he'd pushed for him and Dean to accompany Cas on this case. Because he had a bad feeling about it.

* * *

Castiel waited restlessly by the Impala while Sam and Dean made use of the gas station's facilities to change into their FBI suits. Since Castiel only had Benjamin's last broadcasted location as being in the vicinity, the Winchesters had decided they would check in with the local police chief on any recent incidents. Including murder.

Benjamin's silence was a fetid foreboding in the back of Castiel's mind, his last transmission over angel radio a vacant echo. It had been so long since Castiel had seen or spoken with Benjamin, but he still considered his old comrade a friend. Castiel didn't know if there were any angels left from their former garrison who might also come to Benjamin's aid. Given the ever shifting loyalties of Heaven, it was hard to be sure whether any ties of brotherhood had withstood the trials of the past several years.

Sam and Dean finally emerged, and they drove to the police station. For the first time since setting out together, Castiel was marginally glad to have the Winchesters with him, for it made speaking with the police chief easier. Castiel had gotten lots of practice interacting with humans and law enforcement, and yet he still couldn't seem to do it as well as Sam and Dean. Granted, they'd had more years doing it than him, but it still irked Castiel on a small level that he wasn't better at it yet. And it made him doubt whether he ever would be.

"Afternoon," Dean greeted the police chief. "Agents Stark, Banner, and Rogers." He flashed his fake credentials.

"FBI?" the chief responded, seemingly taken aback. "What can I do for you?"

"Have there been any murders in the past twenty-four hours?" Sam asked.

The man frowned at them. "Murders? No."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Oh," Dean said. "Well, any other reports come in during that time?"

The chief reached behind him to a desk where a stack of folders sat. "Just a mugging."

"May we see?" Sam asked.

Castiel held back a sigh. This was obviously pointless, and they were wasting time. They needed to get back out on the street and searching for where Benjamin might have been.

Not that Castiel had any real idea of how to do that, aside from simply walking up and down every street in a grid search. That's what he would have done on his own.

The chief handed the file over somewhat reluctantly. "Not sure how it's a federal case." He paused for a beat. "Unless you're here about the possible occult ties."

"Occult ties?" Sam repeated, flipping through the report.

The chief folded his arms across his chest. "There were strange markings at the scene. Burn marks that look like, well, who can say for sure."

Sam pulled out a crime scene photo, and Castiel stiffened as he made out the very distinct shape of angel wings scorched into the wall.

"But you said no one died," Dean said in confusion.

"Nope. The woman who was attacked was taken to the hospital. She wasn't even that injured, a small bump on the head, but she's been catatonic this whole time, hasn't been able to say what happened."

Dread curled around Castiel's insides and tightened. Could that be Benjamin's vessel? But how…? Castiel needed to see the crime scene for himself.

"Thank you for your time," he said abruptly, and spun on his heel to march out of the station. He heard Sam offering a hasty thanks before he and Dean hurried to catch up.

"So what are we thinking?" Sam asked as they reached the parking lot.

"Didn't Raphael leave his first vessel catatonic?" Dean said.

"That was an archangel," Castiel pointed out. "And Benjamin would never be so careless with his vessel." He shook his head in frustration. "Maybe the wing prints are a hoax."

Sam and Dean shared a doubting look, but Dean shrugged. "Let's go take a look."

Castiel bristled at Dean's patronizing tone, which had become a near constant since Castiel had killed Billie. He was once again beginning to regret the Winchesters coming with him after all. But he didn't say anything as he yanked the back door of the Impala open and slid into the backseat. Dean and Sam climbed in up front wordlessly, and they drove to the crime scene, which was a bar.

"Mugging happened just after closing," Sam supplied as he cast a surveying look around.

"Well, drunk people get mugged stumbling home after hours," Dean remarked.

"Except the attack happened inside."

"Hm." Dean led the way toward the door.

The bar wasn't open this early, but the owner was there, puttering around behind the counter. Castiel's eyes immediately went to the far back wall where a charcoal wingspan was slapped across it. He went straight toward it, barely listening to Sam and Dean introduce themselves to the bar owner and explain what they were doing here. As he drew closer, Castiel could see that the wing prints were not fake. The acrid aroma of ash still lingered on the air, and Benjamin's wing prints were nearly skeletal—just like all the angels' were after falling three years ago.

A glint of silver caught Castiel's eye, and he bent down to pull out an angel blade that had fallen partway underneath a game booth. The echo of Benjamin's grace was unmistakable; it was his blade. Castiel lifted his gaze back to the wing prints, a pang of grief spearing his heart. He was too late.

He suspected it wouldn't have mattered. Benjamin's death looked as though it had been quick and sudden, though not quick enough he hadn't had time to call for help. Castiel wondered at that. This was a public place, closed at the time, yes, but not isolated and not a place where a battle—or torture—had happened.

"The police report is calling it a mugging," Sam's voice broke through Castiel's roiling thoughts and emotions.

"Sure, yeah," the bar owner replied. "That's the official story. I mean, I was outside, but, come on. These crazy burn marks?"

Castiel finally tore himself away from the brutal scene, his mind reeling under the barrage of questions he had no answers for.

"It's a cult thing, right?" the man went on. "That's why the FBI's—"

Castiel marched back over. "Get out."

The bar owner blinked. "What?"

"Get out," he repeated tersely.

The man looked at Dean and Sam uncertainly.

"He means we can take it from here," Dean interjected. "Thanks."

"Yeah…"

Dean started escorting him toward the door. "We'll call you when we're done."

Sam turned to Castiel and lowered his voice. "Dude, you all right?" he asked, tone a mixture of chastisement and concern.

"No," Castiel admitted, looking away. "No, Benjamin and I, we fought together. He was…he was a gifted soldier. I don't know how this could've happened."

Dean came back over. "Alright, well, his vessel is still alive, right? That means there was a witness."

Castiel still couldn't fathom how that was possible, but Dean was right, the hospital needed to be their next stop.

"Just- just give me a minute," he said.

Dean furrowed his brow. "What for?"

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but his anger instantly bled away to be replaced with a deep well of sadness. He decided not to bother trying to explain himself, and instead turned to walk back to the wall of ash. He heard Dean mumble something under his breath, and Sam giving him a soft, chiding remark. Castiel ignored them both.

Coming to stand before the ash remains of his friend, Castiel bowed his head and whispered a short phrase in Enochian. How many prayers over fallen brothers and sisters had he uttered in his long life? Too many. He didn't know where angels went when they died, if anywhere, and so there was little comfort to be found in lifting up Benjamin's spirit to the stars. The only thing Castiel could truly offer was a promise to find out what happened. And for that, they had a potential witness to interview.

Castiel slipped Benjamin's blade up his sleeve and followed the Winchesters back out to the car.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to the hospital was short, and Castiel had to begrudgingly admit that it was easier getting past the staff with Sam and Dean using their rehearsed FBI lines. Especially when the nurse claimed that there was no point in them interviewing the victim since she was still in a catatonic state.

"We've had experience talking with traumatized victims," Sam said in a genuinely caring tone. "Please, we'd like to try."

The nurse finally relented and escorted them to one of the patient rooms. Castiel recognized Benjamin's vessel immediately—dark skin, almond eyes, short and cropped curly hair. She was sitting up in bed, staring out the window vacantly. The nurse did a quick check of her vitals, but the machines all seemed to be beeping within normal ranges, and with a final look of warning at the three men, left them alone.

Castiel came around the side of the bed to face her. Her gaze didn't even shift at his approach. "Ai- Aisha, right?" Castiel asked hesitantly as he tried to dredge up the name of the woman.

She blinked and finally looked up at him, eyes widening in alarm.

"I'm Castiel," he said quickly. "Do you remember me?" He had never interacted with Benjamin's vessel before, but knew that Benjamin had, and often. He would have told her all about the garrison and other angels he served with.

She stared at him for a long moment. "You look different," she spoke softly, her voice wafer thin.

"I have a different vessel now."

Aisha flicked a guarded look at the Winchesters.

"This is Sam and Dean. They're hunters, the good guys," Castiel explained. "I- I heard Benjamin call for help. Can you tell us what happened?"

Her expression crumpled, and she bowed forward to hide her face in her hands as sobs began to wrack her lithe frame. "He's gone. Oh god, he's gone."

Castiel tentatively reached out to touch her shoulder, wanting to soothe her pain but not knowing how to. He couldn't imagine the devastation of her loss. When Jimmy had left him to ascend to Heaven, Castiel had felt…a certain sense of emptiness, maybe bordering on loneliness. But it had been negligible amidst the chorus of the Host he'd still been connected with at the time. Now that he was disconnected from it…he understood how painful such severance could be, especially in the beginning when it was still like a raw, gaping wound.

"Aisha, what happened?" he asked, voice strained with his own grief.

She shook her head. "I don't know. There- there was this man." Her chest hiccoughed. "He- he somehow ripped Benjamin out of me. I- I remember burning, and screaming." She shuddered.

"He exorcised Benjamin?" Sam spoke up gently.

Aisha nodded jerkily. "He wouldn't have left me willingly. And then this man- he- he  _killed_  Benjamin." She looked up, pupils dilated with remembered horror. "And then he looked at me and said I was free, and walked away. Just like that." She shook her head as her sobs increased again. "What am I going to do without him?"

She fell forward against him, and Castiel froze as Aisha buried her face in his shirt. He lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders, heart clenching with shared grief. He held her for several long moments while Sam and Dean looked on, exchanging somewhat dubious looks. As though they couldn't understand why a vessel would be so upset at having lost the angel possessing them…as though they couldn't fathom a vessel and an angel being friends.

What did that say about Castiel, then?

Dean finally cleared his throat. "Setting you free? Sounds like a hunter."

"A hunter killing angels," Castiel half growled. He slowly extricated himself from Aisha, now that she was calming down. "Benjamin didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, well, there are plenty of angels out there who weren't as nice as your pal."

"So we all deserve to be hunted?"

"That's not what he's saying," Sam interjected.

"Then what is he saying?" Castiel said, voice rising an octave. He couldn't just ignore this, couldn't let this hunter continue going around killing angels,  _his_  brothers.

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if  _he_  had the right to be offended here. "I'm saying we track this guy down and explain to him that he can't go around killing any angel he runs into," he said somewhat sharply.

Castiel clenched his jaw. Why was it that fellow hunters were always given the benefit of the doubt, but angels were always written off as 'dicks' who should be killed at any single offense? Castiel had always known of Dean's double standard, but it had never been more starkly painful as in this moment.

Dean didn't seem to notice, and waved a hand at him. "Just stay put. Sam and I will handle this."

Castiel furled his hands into fists, but didn't argue; Dean wouldn't listen.

"Fine," he said curtly. "I'll stay with Aisha." She was obviously traumatized, and would need help readjusting after having been a vessel for almost a century.

Dean turned and strode out of the hospital room. Sam hesitated long enough to throw Castiel a sympathetic look before following. Castiel shook his head and tried to swallow his frustration so he could focus on someone who actually needed him—and would probably appreciate his help.

* * *

The elevator door pinged open and Dean stepped out into the motel hallway. "You sure about this address?" he asked.

Sam exited behind him, glancing up and down the corridor. "Well, the car on the bar's security footage was a rental, so I called the company. I told them the driver was wanted for questioning by the FBI. They pinged the LoJack—"

"Okay, you could've just said yes," Dean interrupted.

Sam huffed. "Yes. So what's the plan?"

"Well, we knock on his door and ask him nicely not to kill any more angels."

Sam cast him a sidelong bitch-face. "And if he says no?"

Dean hoped they wouldn't have to go there, because this hunter wasn't a  _bad_  guy. And he was human, so it wasn't like they could kill him if he didn't want to play ball. "Then we burn that bridge when we come to it."

They made their way down the hall to the room number they'd gotten from the front desk when they'd asked who had checked in with the same vehicle they were tracking. According to the manager, guy was Eric Dunn. Neither Dean nor Sam had heard of him in the hunting community before, but it wasn't like there was an online registry.

When they found the room, Dean raised a fist to knock. The door opened a moment later, revealing a six-foot, slightly burly guy with brown hair, mid-thirties, wearing jeans and a cargo jacket. Definitely a hunter's style.

"Hey there," Dean greeted. "My name is Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam."

Sam nodded.

"Winchester? You mean," he lowered his voice, " _the_  Winchesters?" At least he didn't sound hostile about it.

"Yep," Dean replied. "You Eric Dunn?"

"Yeah." The guy narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then a flicker of wariness. "How'd you find me?"

"The way any hunter would," Dean said. "A little legwork."

"Can we come in and talk?" Sam said.

Eric continued to eye them suspiciously. "Sure." He stepped back, widening the opening, and both Dean and Sam entered. "What's this about?"

"Um, it's about the angel you killed the other day."

Eric frowned. "Oh. Did I step on your hunt?"

"No, uh," Sam hedged. "It's just, we, uh, don't think that angel was bad."

Eric stared at them both incredulously. "Not bad? It was possessing an innocent person. I freed her."

"Yeah, how'd you even manage that, by the way?" Dean asked.

Eric's eyes lit up with excitement, and he went over to a duffel bag on the bed. "I met these Brits, Men of Letters, they called themselves. They offered me some tech I could use for hunting angels, as long as I agreed to handle other cases they sometimes sent my way." He pulled out a golden egg-shaped object Dean was well familiar with.

"You used that to expel the angel from its vessel?" he checked. He didn't know why he was surprised the British Men of Letters would have had more than one; Ketch probably wouldn't have given them the only prototype they had on hand when the Winchesters had been preparing to go up against Lucifer. And apparently their question about it working on angels had sparked an idea in Ketch, if he'd then gone on to advertise the device's uses on the halos from upstairs.

"Yep," Eric said proudly as he passed it to Dean. "Hyperbolic Pulse Generator. It emits a force which drives the possessing angel from the vessel—"

"Yeah, we heard the sales pitch," Dean muttered.

Eric gave him a strange look, but then shrugged it off. "And then I used a spell to destroy the angel. No harm comes to the vessel, and they're freed."

"Wait," Sam said. "You primarily hunt angels?"

Eric's expression darkened. "My wife was taken as a vessel a few years ago. When I finally found her, she'd been killed. Or, the angel possessing her had been killed. There were wing prints. But whoever did it didn't even care about the human inside, about Holly."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. Yeah, wasn't that a familiar story. No wonder this guy had become a hunter; Eric pretty much had the same origin story as all of them, only it wasn't a monster or demon that had taken his wife, but an angel.

Sam cleared his throat softly. "We're sorry for your loss. But, you know angels can't take a vessel without permission. Your wife must have had a reason, must have had faith, to say yes."

"So she asked to be murdered?" Eric snapped back. "Asked to be taken advantage of because she was deceived by these so-called holy beings?"

"No, of course not," Sam quickly backpedaled. "I'm sorry, I don't know your wife's situation, but the angel you killed, his vessel was happy with him. They were friends. Now that woman you freed is traumatized and grieving."

Eric shook his head adamantly. "No, you're wrong."

"We went to see her at the hospital," Dean put in. "She was pretty upset."

"Did you even bother to see if she was okay after you 'freed' her?" Sam pressed.

Eric was looking between them with hardened suspicion now. "What exactly did you come here for?"

"To tell you to stop killing angels," Dean said tiredly. "Or, to at least do your homework and know whether you're going after a good or bad one."

"They're all bad!"

"No, they're not," Dean argued. "Look, our buddy is an angel, and he's definitely one of the good guys. Yeah, a lot of them out there are dicks, but you can't just go around killing any you come across. Because that woman you freed, you made her collateral damage, just like what happened to your wife."

Eric stared at him for several long moments, expression shifting rapidly between disbelief and anger. "How can you defend them?" he seethed.

Dean shook his head; he wasn't  _defending_  them, he was just…well, he didn't really know. "You know there are other monsters out there," he tried to redirect. "Demons. They possess people and don't bother getting permission first. This device you got here—" he handed it back "—was originally made to exorcise them. Why don't you take it and save people who truly are being enslaved and forced to do horrible things?"

Eric slowly set the Brits' pulse thingy back in his duffel. "I won't let what happened to my wife happen to other people's loved ones."

"And we get that," Sam said earnestly. "We do. But the next time you come across an angel and want to exorcise it, you really should talk to the vessel before you kill the angel."

"And give it time to escape, possess someone else?" Eric retorted.

Dean rolled his eyes in growing annoyance. "Listen man, you keep this up, the other angels are gonna catch on, and they're gonna come after you."

Eric snorted. "I'd like to see them try."

"No, you wouldn't," Sam said. "Look, we're just asking you to be smart here. And Dean's right; there are lots of people you could save from demons with that thing."

A muscle in Eric's jaw ticked as he stared back at them tensely. "You got a spell to kill an exorcised demon?" he finally bit out.

"Uh, no," Sam replied. "But they get sent back to Hell, and it takes them a long time to come back up, so that's something."

Eric just gave him a bland look. "It's not enough. If you can't break the cycle, it's not enough."

Dean shrugged. "That's the hunting life. You take one vampire nest down, there's always another that pops up somewhere else. That's why people like us keep hunting things, keep saving people."

Eric didn't say anything to that.

"So, we're good?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Yeah, sure," Eric mumbled.

Dean reached into his pocket for one of his cards. "Hey, if you ever need help on a case, or on figuring out whether an angel is a good or bad one, give us a call."

Eric took the card, but didn't make any other acknowledgement. Dean shifted his weight awkwardly before finally heading for the door. At least that was taken care of. Now they just needed to go pick up Cas and head back to the bunker…which Dean suddenly remembered wasn't exactly home sweet home lately, because he remembered how pissed he still was at Cas for killing Billie. Careless, was what that boneheaded move was. Cas never did think things through before jumping in head first. Just like this hunter going after angels indiscriminately. And Dean was just fed up with it.

* * *

Castiel sat by Aisha's bedside, both of his hands folded over hers in the only comforting gesture he could think of. She seemed to appreciate it, because she hadn't withdrawn her hand once in the past hour.

"It's so quiet without him," she said softly.

Castiel's chest constricted. "I know. And I know it's hard right now, but you will adjust."

"How am I supposed to do that? I have no one, no family. Benjamin was my family."

"I'll do whatever I can to help you," Castiel promised. "And the Winchesters, they can set you up with an identity, and some money so you can go somewhere and make a fresh start."

She started shaking her head, the pain of loss and denial still too fresh. "I wish that man had killed me too."

Castiel squeezed her hand sharply. "Don't say that. Benjamin would want you to go on with your life, to be happy. You…" He cast about for what he should say, what encouragement he could possibly give. "You can do anything you want. You can help people." Castiel offered her a small smile. "I think Benjamin would appreciate that."

Aisha sniffed and raised her other hand to rub at her eyes. "It would honor his memory, I suppose."

Castiel nodded.

She looked up to meet his eyes. "What about your vessel?"

Castiel dropped his gaze. "Jimmy Novak's soul is in Heaven. I'm- I'm alone in this…" He wasn't sure he could call this body just a vessel anymore. With only himself inhabiting it, and with how he'd continually fallen by degrees each year, it became more and more like his own body. Not his original true form, but no less who he really was, at this point.

"How long?" Aisha asked, voice soft with sympathy.

"A few years now."

She paused for a moment. "So…you get used to it? The silence?"

Castiel's expression pinched. He didn't know what to say. In some ways, yes, he got used to the silence. He hadn't been one with Heaven's Host for a long time. He'd had access to angel radio, yes, but it'd been a while since he'd been cut off from general transmissions. Benjamin's targeted call for help had been the first time in a couple of years that Castiel had heard anything from his angelic brethren. Yet at the same time, the vacuum of silence was something he lived with every day, and was always, unavoidably aware of.

He'd apparently taken too long to answer, because Aisha nodded sadly.

"There are other ways to fill the silence," Castiel hurried to say, wanting to offer her some hope in this dark time. "People. Music…keeping busy."

She just nodded again, and they fell silent under the solemn shroud hanging over them both.

It wasn't much later that Sam and Dean returned. Castiel straightened at attention when they entered. "What happened?"

"We talked to the guy, convinced him he should be focusing on exorcising demons, not angels," Dean said.

Castiel frowned at how easily Dean continued to excuse Benjamin's death. Not that Castiel wanted to track down and kill this hunter, but it left a prickly thorn in his heart that his old friend would never get justice for his murder. Because he was 'just an angel.' To Dean, to the hunting community at large. There would always be that divide between them—human and not. Human and  _other_.

At least Aisha cared for Benjamin. Her grief was real. But it made Castiel feel closer to her in that moment than to his charges whom he had looked after for the past eight years. And that chipped at something deep inside him that Castiel couldn't quite name, or deal with right now.

"Sam," Castiel said, voice slightly gruff from his tempestuous emotions. "Could you set Aisha up with an identity? She- she doesn't have papers or money."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, sure, I can get right on that."

He left, and Dean went with him, which Castiel was somewhat relieved about, yet it also seemed to drive a wedge in that fissure in his heart and widen the crack there. He turned away from it, however, and focused on Aisha. She would be easier to help than himself.

* * *

Now that Aisha was no longer in a catatonic state, the hospital was happy to release her. Sam had put together papers and an identity for her rather quickly, and then the Winchesters and Castiel had driven her to the closest bus depot.

"Where will you go?" Castiel asked as Aisha gazed at the map and bus routes with available tickets listed.

She didn't respond for a long moment. "I always liked Maine. The smell of the ocean, the crisp winters. We used to visit often, before- before Benjamin lost his wings."

Castiel ducked his gaze, ashamed that he had been the cause for that. He wondered if Benjamin had hated him for it. He wondered if Aisha knew.

Aisha lifted her chin, hiking her borrowed bag higher on her shoulder. "So that's where I will go."

"Good luck," Castiel offered, though it sounded hollow.

She nodded. "Thank you."

With that, she entered the bus terminal to go purchase a ticket. Castiel turned and headed back to the Winchesters, who were waiting in the parking lot by the Impala. Dean was talking on his cell phone.

"Yeah, alright," he was saying as Castiel came up to them. He hung up a moment later. "So that hunter, Eric, called about a demon he found. He doesn't have much experience with them and was hoping for some help before we leave town." Still holding his phone, Dean pointed to Castiel. "So you stay put while me and Sam go give him a hand."

Castiel bristled. "Stay put?" he repeated. "Again?"

Dean shrugged. "The guy doesn't like angels. I don't think you showing up is such a good idea."

"You don't have to tell him I'm an angel," Castiel immediately countered.

Dean shook his head. "Just…hang tight. With the exorcism device he's got, this'll take a couple hours, tops."

Castiel drew his shoulders back. So was that it? Dean didn't trust him at all after what happened with Billie? Castiel was being sidelined. Was being treated as though he were an obligation, while this hunter who had murdered an innocent angel warranted Dean dropping everything to run to his assistance?

Sam flicked an uncomfortable look between the two of them, but Dean had made up his mind, and was already climbing into the Impala. "Um, maybe find a coffee shop or something?" Sam suggested.

Castiel didn't bother responding. With another awkward, apologetic glance, Sam made his way to the passenger side of the vehicle. Dean started the engine up with a rumble and proceeded to drive away. Castiel clenched his fists, frustration feeling like a pressure balloon expanding painfully in his chest.

Maybe he would simply buy a bus ticket back to Lebanon.

Or somewhere else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I have a post-13x07 rescue!fic I'm going to post tomorrow instead of Wednesday, because it's a long one, and I've got a Raising Amy chapter for Wednesday. Oy vey, lots of stories this week. XD

Dean pulled the Impala up outside an old abandoned church. He shook his head. "I can't believe a hunter who's taken on angels is afraid of one demon." Seriously, Eric wanted to meet at a church where the demon wouldn't be able to get the jump on them? He had the friggin' exorcism egg for crying out loud.

Sam just shrugged. "So, uh, how long you gonna keep benching Cas?"

Dean shot his brother a scowl. "That's not what I'm doing."

"No? I mean, I get not bringing him when we first confronted Eric, but just leaving him at the bus depot like that…he's right, Eric doesn't have to know he's an angel."

"And what if he figured it out, huh?" Dean retorted. "Cas doesn't exactly act like a normal human."

Sam let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, but…"

"Would you give the peacemaker crap a rest?"

"No," Sam said sharply. "No, I won't, because you and Cas need to get over this. The thing with Billie happened. Let's just move on!"

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his door open.

"Dean," his brother called after him, scrambling to exit the car as well.

"Not now, Sam. We have a case." Dean slammed his car door shut a little roughly, and strode purposefully up the steps to the church. Sam, wisely, dropped the issue, though Dean got a bitchy glare over it. Whatever.

They entered the church and made their way through a foyer cluttered with old furniture, and then into the main auditorium. There was no sign of Eric. Most of the space had been cleared, through there were a few rows of broken pews. Dean briefly flicked his gaze upward at the vertical windows, half of them boarded up with shoddy planks.

There was a sudden clatter of metal, and Dean twisted around just as a metal canister went rolling down the steps from the dais. He had a split second for his brain to register what it was before the light bomb exploded. Dean cried out in surprise and jerked away, but it was too late, his vision was completely whited out.

"Sam!" he shouted, though his brother was probably equally blinded. Dean stumbled, and the next thing he knew, an arm was snaking around his neck and wrenching him back against a firm body, trapping him in a headlock. The press of a cold barrel settled against his skull, and Dean froze. Spots were beginning to flash across his vision, but he could make out his brother's silhouette. Sam had his arms out as though trying to find something to grasp.

"Slowly take your gun out, Sam," Dean's captor spoke, and his spine went rigid as he recognized Eric. "And put it on the floor."

Sam straightened abruptly and whipped his head around. "Eric?"

"That's right. And you may not see it just yet, but I've got a .32 right up against your brother's skull."

"Dean?" Sam called, and Dean could see enough now to make out his brother blinking furiously to clear his own vision.

Dean didn't respond, and gritted his teeth as Eric's chokehold pressed uncaringly against his windpipe. Eric didn't say anything, either, just waited until Sam could see again, which became evident when Sam stiffened and made eye contact with Dean, despite still squinting.

"Slowly, Sam," Eric said.

A muscle in Sam's jaw jerked, but he nevertheless started slowly reaching for his weapon. With careful, deliberate movements, he lifted his gun and bent down to set it on the floor.

Eric shifted slightly, dragging Dean with him. "Now, there's some zip ties on the pew there. Put them on."

Sam was practically seething, but an extra nudge of the gun against Dean's temple got him moving, albeit reluctantly. He went over to the pew and picked up one of the plastic ties. At another pointed gesture from Eric, he slipped them over his wrists and used his teeth to pull them tight.

"Now sit down and do your feet," Eric instructed.

"What the hell do you want?" Dean grunted.

"We'll get to that."

Once Sam had finished securing himself, Eric slammed the butt of his gun against Dean's head. Pain exploded in his skull, and he dropped to his knees as his vision swam briefly with darkness. Before he could recover from the daze, he felt his arms yanked forward and together, followed by a plastic tie being slipped over them and cinched. Then a boot pressed against his chest and shoved him flat on his back. Dean tried to buck away, but Eric grabbed his feet and deftly wrapped a tie around his ankles.

"Eric," Sam's voice sounded from his left. "We're on the same side."

Dean rolled over and blinked as the smudges in his vision coalesced into distinct objects once more.

"No," Eric said, relieving Dean of his gun and the knife he had tucked in his boot. He got up and went to divest Sam of his other hidden weapons as well. "You made it very clear you're on the side of those winged bastards. One of them's your friend, too, right? That's what you said. Was it the guy in the trench coat at the hospital?"

Dean flicked an alarmed look at his brother. Dammit, how had they not noticed they were being followed? Because Dean hadn't been expecting it, that's why. Because he'd thought they'd convinced Eric to give up his crusade against angels. And why had Dean mentioned they were friends with one? He'd practically slapped a target on Cas's back by doing that.

Eric came forward and began pawing through Dean's pockets. He tried to wrench away, but the sharp movement made him dizzy. Eric found his phone and stood up, stepping away to start scrolling through it.

"'Castiel,'" he read. "That sounds like an angel name." Eric began tapping something out on the phone.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Eric, we told you, our friend's one of the good guys. He's helped save the world. Multiple times!"

Eric snorted. "All angels bring is death and destruction. I doubt this one is any different."

Dean suddenly couldn't help thinking of the mistakes Cas  _had_  made—Purgatory, the Leviathan, and now with Billie. But each and every time, Cas had only been trying to help, had only been trying to save the Winchesters. It wasn't any less than what Dean and Sam had done themselves, time and time again. But that was the problem—sacrificing themselves for each other…opening cans of worms with ' _cosmic_  consequences' was a bad habit the Winchesters really needed to break. And that included Cas, since he was one of them.

Eric's thumbs finished rapping out a message and then he hit one final button, which Dean could only assume was to send a text to Cas, most likely asking him to come meet them somewhere. Then Eric tossed the phone onto the pew with the zip ties, and leaned over the back of the bench. He lifted out a gasoline can and proceeded to start pouring a line of treacly liquid in a circle in the middle of the open auditorium. Dean's gut tightened as he recognized the faint whiff of holy oil.

"Eric, don't do this," Sam pleaded.

Eric shot him a scathing glare. "You call yourselves hunters? You  _save_  people? Do you even care about the man your  _angel_  friend is possessing?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Cas isn't possessing someone. Not- not anymore. That vessel- it's his, it's  _him_."

Eric quirked a dubious look at him, and was silent for a prolonged beat. "It's not," he finally said, tone frighteningly calm. "And I'm going to show you that."

He finished pouring the holy oil, and then returned the gas can to behind the pews. When he turned back to the Winchesters, there was a roll of duct tape in his hand. He strode forward, tearing off a piece. Dean tried to recoil, but had nowhere to go, and Eric stretched a strip of tape across his mouth. Then he went and did the same to Sam.

"Now, sit tight. I'm sure your  _friend_  will be here soon." Eric strode away to conceal himself behind a pile of benches stacked near the wall.

Dean strained against the zip tie around his wrists, trying to get it loose. They had to get out of this before Cas showed up. How long would it take him to get here, anyway? He was on foot, but even so, the church hadn't been that far from the bus depot where Dean had left Cas…left him like some acquaintance he didn't want getting in the way, rather than the best friend and capable warrior that he was. Why hadn't Dean agreed to let Cas come? Not that it would have been a good idea, now knowing Eric's true intentions. But dammit, Dean could have put Eric in contact with another hunter, or now that he thought about it, the douchebag could have just called on his British Men of Letters pals for help with a demon.

But Dean hadn't wanted to start their trip home, which would have inevitably been another long car ride of tense silence. Or worse, Sam trying to mediate between him and Cas. And now Cas was being lured into a trap because of Dean's carelessness.

His cheeks puffed with exertion and no give on the restraints, and at one point he looked up to find Sam's face equally red as he struggled futilely.

_Think, dammit_ , Dean chastised himself. He cast his gaze around for something sharp, spotting a couple of loose nails and splinters scattered about. He'd have to be subtle about reaching for one, though. Eric probably had a line of sight to them to make sure they wouldn't be escaping before Cas arrived.

Dean grunted as he heaved himself into a more upright sitting position, rocking to the side and planting his hands on the floor as though to catch himself. He quickly palmed one of the nails, hoping it would be enough. Then he scooted back against the steps of the dais and let his knees drop out to the sides so his hands could rest on his boots. Then he focused on maneuvering the nail in his hand around so he could get at the zip tie around his ankles. It wasn't easy, and doing it without drawing attention made it that much slower. Sam was watching him closely, eyes full of expectant, but tense comprehension.

Dean wasn't sure how many long minutes had ticked by, though he was pretty sure it had to be close to half an hour. Eric had gotten up several times to look out the window, which had forced Dean to stop his efforts momentarily each time.

He thought he was finally making progress at wedging the nail through a slit deep enough to loosen the plastic, when the door at the other end of the church creaked open. Dean whipped his head up, eyes flying wide in horror as Cas walked in.

Cas spotted them immediately, his own expression flashing with dismay. "Sam, Dean!"

Dean and Sam were both shouting into the tape across their mouths, but of course Cas couldn't understand their warnings as he hurried straight toward them, right through the center of the auditorium. Dean didn't hear the match being lit, but he saw it get tossed through the air to land on the oil. The ring went up with a whoosh, racing along both sides of the line to connect at the opposite end. Cas jolted to a stop as he was surrounded within seconds.

He whipped around, panic flaring in his eyes. Eric stepped out from his hiding place and stalked forward.

Cas straightened. "What is this?"

"What does it look like, angel? A trap." Eric flicked a disdainful look at Dean and Sam. "I gotta admit, I'm a little surprised you came. These guys claim you're their 'friend,' but what's really in it for you?"

Cas flicked a look at the brothers before returning his attention to Eric. "You killed Benjamin."

"I suppose you mean the other winged bastard. Is that it, then? You sent these two hunters to do your bidding, warn me to back off?"

Dean worked harder at getting his bindings loose, now that Eric's attention was solely focused on Cas.

"The Winchesters have nothing to do with this," Cas said. "There's no reason to hurt them."

Dean growled into the tape over his mouth, because of course that self-sacrificing son-of-a-bitch was more concerned about them than himself at the moment.

Eric took a step closer and gave Cas a vitriolic sneer. "I'm not the one who hurts humans. I protect them from the likes of  _you_." He reached into his jacket and pulled out the golden egg. "And now I'm going to free that vessel."

Dean watched Cas's eyes widen with recognition at the device.

"This- this vessel is empty," Cas tried to explain. "The soul who this body belonged to went to Heaven a long time ago."

"Yeah, that's what you told your pals here, right? But I know angels can't possess an empty body."

"Not normally, no," Cas admitted, shifting awkwardly. "But my circumstance is…unusual," he ground out.

Eric snorted. "An angel would say anything to manipulate people into doing what it wants."

Dean mentally cussed out Eric. That bastard. He was determined to see only what he wanted, and not that Cas wasn't like every other angel under the sun. Hell, Cas was what angels were  _supposed_  to be.

Cas briefly ducked his gaze in something like shame. "I know some of my brethren have done terrible things, but not all of them are bad. Benjamin was a good angel who never hurt anyone. He cared for the woman who gave her body to him. She's mourning him right now."

"Stockholm Syndrome," Eric replied. "You don't get to claim you care about the people whose bodies you steal." His voice amped up an octave. "What about their lives, their families!"

Cas visibly flinched, and a pained look crossed his face. "I admit that I didn't fully understand what I was asking of the man Jimmy Novak," he said softly. "But I've spent a lot of time among humans since then, and I've learned so much. And I've sought to repay Jimmy's sacrifice by trying to look after his family…"

Dean could see the guilt filling Cas's eyes at that, and with the orange firelight also reflecting in his pupils, Dean was stricken with the memory of the last time Cas had been trapped in a ring of holy fire—when Dean and Sam had been the ones to trap him in it.

Dean silently cursed again as he wrenched himself away from that image. That was so far in the past. And yeah, Jimmy had pretty much gotten screwed, and Claire had ended up losing both her father and mother, but Cas had tried to help the kid out in the past couple years. And Cas  _was_  different from the angel he'd been when he first pulled Dean from Hell.

Eric just stared at Cas incredulously for a moment, before his lip curled up in disgust. "Are you playing at being human?" he spat. "Is that it?" He took another step closer to the edge of the fire ring. "Because you're not. Never will be. You should have stayed in the clouds."

With that, he twisted the cap of the golden egg, activating the sigils.

Dean's heart seized as Cas was hit with a rippling pulse, his back arching and mouth opening in a scream. Wisps of blue light tore from his body, crackling and spritzing as gales buffeted the interior of the church. The gusts extinguished the holy fire, but it didn't matter, Cas's body was frozen in spasms as his grace was forcibly ejected.

The egg stopped glowing, and Cas's body crumpled to the floor as blue energy churned and twisted in the air above.

Eric said something Dean couldn't make out, but it sounded deep and guttural, like an Enochian spell. Lightning suddenly forked out of thin air and speared the swirling grace. The scream of a jet engine split the air and almost ruptured Dean's eardrums.

_No!_

The plastic around his ankles finally snapped open and Dean surged to his feet, ignoring the prickling along his skin and vibrating spine as more lightning skewered the celestial aura. An angelic scream filled the church again and shattered the windows.

Dean swung his still bound arms at Eric so hard that the hunter went down instantly, and the spell cut off, dousing the lightning. Dean ripped the tape off his mouth and bent down to take his knife off of Eric. He then sprinted back to Sam and cut his bindings, swiftly passed him the knife so he could free Dean's wrists, and then they both turned to Cas.

Dean took one step toward his best friend sprawled on the floor, only to freeze when Sam suddenly went the other direction, and dropped down next to a pool of faint blue light fizzling on the ground just a few feet away. For a moment, Dean could only glance between it and Cas…he swallowed hard—Cas's vessel. Because it was just a body, a shell. Cas, the real Cas, was currently lying in a puddle, the normally feathery aura of an angel's grace reduced to something like quicksilver, dimmed and…oh god, maybe  _dying_.

"Cas?" Sam gasped, hovering over the angel's true form.

The grace flickered briefly and let out a small, pitiful trill that was nowhere near as strong as an angel's true voice should be.

A grunt from behind had Dean whirling around as Eric propped himself up onto his elbows. "Look at it!" he spat. "It's a parasite! It needs to be exterminated with the lot of them!"

Dean stormed over and delivered a vicious right hook, knocking Eric out cold. His chest heaved with the urge for more violence, and Dean clenched and unclenched his fists as he fought against the desire to kill the bastard. Instead, he picked up a broken plank from a pew and went over to smash the golden egg into pieces. The shards scattered, their broken sigils flaring briefly as their power died.

Dean turned back to Cas where Sam was carefully reaching out to try scooping the angel into his arms. Cas let out another weak warble as he crawled sluggishly into Sam's palms. Dean's heart dropped into his stomach as Cas's color seemed to fade another degree.

"Sammy?" he said, because he didn't know what they were supposed to do here.

Sam flicked a terrified look over his shoulder, but then shifted and started scooting his way over to Cas's body, careful not to drop the grace burbling in his arms. "Cas, can you…?"

Cas's whistle was barely audible, and his movements seemed to be growing more stagnant. Sam gently raised his arms up near Cas's—Jimmy's—mouth, and then tilted them carefully so that Cas's grace slid between the vessel's lips like water. A faint glow suffused through Cas's chest, but it dimmed quickly. Dean watched with bated breath as his eyes slowly opened to slits, blue irises glazed with pain.

Dean finally moved and came over to kneel next to him.

"Cas?" Sam prompted, placing a hand on the angel's shoulder.

Cas didn't respond, just continued to gaze up at them with a glassy, half-aware look that suggested he was barely clinging to consciousness.

Sam shot a worried look at Dean. "What do we do?"

Dean pressed his mouth into a tight line. He didn't know. "Let's get him back to the bunker," he said, because there they had resources, could maybe find the spell Eric had used and see if there was a way to counter it. Or maybe Cas just needed some time and he'd recover on his own.

Which Dean realized was what he always counted on Cas to do. He always brushed off hits Cas took because his mojo always fixed him up, and okay, sometimes it was delayed, but he healed faster than any human ever could.

But what if this was one time he couldn't? And Dean didn't know how to help his best friend, his  _angel_ , because he'd never bothered to consider what an  _angel_  might need if one was ever severely injured.

All the ways Cas had strove to learn about humans, and Dean had never done the same, except to learn how to take down the winged dicks.

But Cas wasn't one of them, wasn't a monster to be hunted down and killed just because he wasn't human.

Dean needed to fix this. Somehow, he had to fix this.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam entered the library, bearing a fresh cup of coffee for his brother. He was somewhat taken aback at how doggedly Dean had thrown himself into research since they'd gotten Cas back to the bunker. It wasn't his usual method of coping with situations he felt helpless in—that was Sam's.

But it'd been over a day and Cas was still in bad shape, unconscious most of the time, and when he did wake, he was so weak that he couldn't even move or speak. Sam wasn't sure he was even fully lucid in those moments.

At least he wasn't comatose, which was a small comfort. But he wasn't healing. Or, if he was, it was happening so slowly and on a level the Winchesters couldn't see. Because it was his grace, his true form, that had been brutally injured. And so Dean had been scouring the books on angel care. So had Sam, but Dean was definitely going at it with the fervency of a pre-law student.

He was standing by one of the bookshelves when Sam walked in, a large tome braced open in his arms.

"You remember how human souls can give angels a power boost?" Dean said without preamble.

Sam's stomach cramped with the very distinct memory of Lucifer shoving a fist through his chest to grope his soul. Back when the Devil had been possessing Cas. And Sam had even been the one to suggest that kind of power boost, when he hadn't known better, so that Cas could bring Dean back from the World War II submarine.

It said a lot that Dean was the one suggesting it now.

"I don't think Cas is strong enough to do that," Sam reluctantly pointed out. He also vaguely remembered a similar situation with Bobby so long ago, and how the process to get extra juice somehow also seemed to take a lot out of both parties involved.

"Which is why I'm looking for a spell to do it for him," Dean replied, not even bothering to look up from the book that had captivated his attention.

Sam perked up. "And did you find one?"

"I think so." Dean finally moved toward him, and Sam quickly set his coffee mug on the table in order to take the book as Dean passed it to him. "We can open a channel," Dean explained. "Make like a soul energy IV."

Sam scanned the spell. It was meant for pooling energy resources in a collective casting, but he could easily see how they would tweak it to lend Cas strength. Especially since he was not human, so his grace should accept the power boost and use it to replenish itself.

"Yeah, okay." Sam pursed his mouth. "I wonder how much Cas'll need. We should take turns."

"I'll go first," Dean said abruptly, and took the book back.

Sam didn't argue.  _That_  was Dean's preferred coping method—sacrificing himself. Especially when guilt was involved.

Even though Dean wasn't at fault over what happened, he and Cas had still been fighting. If Eric had succeeded—which did not bear dwelling on—Dean's last words to Cas would have been curt and laden with discord. And as much as Sam hated what had happened, part of him hoped this would finally convince his brother to get his head out of his ass and forgive Cas for killing Billie. For saving them, just like he always did.

They gathered the ingredients and brought everything into Cas's room where the angel was laid out on the bed, out cold. Sam frowned at how they hadn't taken his trench coat off, or his tie, or even his shoes. Because they'd been figuring that Cas was going to recover quicker than this.

They should try to make him more comfortable. But first things first.

Dean mixed the necessary ingredients in a bowl, which included slicing his palm and bleeding several drops into it. Then he took a seat in the chair they'd left beside the bed, bowl in his lap.

Sam just watched as Dean recited the incantation. A wispy aura fizzled in the bowl, and Dean hissed as the cut on his palm suddenly glowed. It didn't seal over, but pulsed faintly with ready energy. Dean's brow creased in confusion for a moment before he apparently decided to take Cas's hand. The original spell called for a completed circle, so the physical contact made sense.

Sam held his breath against hope as Cas's palm began to suffuse with light that glowed brighter until it encased both their hands. Other than that, though, there was no other visible sign of anything happening. For several long moments, neither of them moved or spoke, but Dean's shoulders were starting to droop forward, and so Sam finally stepped in.

"That's enough for now, Dean."

His brother stubbornly shook his head. "This has to work."

"We don't know it's not," Sam answered in a reasonable tone. "Let me take a turn."

"I'm good."

"You can do it again in a couple hours," Sam persisted. "We're gonna get him better, Dean, but not by draining yourself dry on the first shot." He crossed his arms and waited, looming over his brother.

After another moment, Dean finally released Cas's hand, and the glow faded. He wordlessly got up, footsteps shuffling heavily to the other side of the room as Sam took his place.

Taking the knife to his palm, Sam repeated the process for the spell. The activation of the energy channel burned slightly, like super heated liquid under his skin, but not painfully so. Sam took Cas's hand, and the glow resumed. He felt strength trickling out of him gradually, and knew it had to be going into Cas. But that only confirmed how injured he was that it didn't instantly restore him like both brothers had been hoping.

Sam was tempted to hold on longer like Dean had, but he managed to wrest himself away when he felt a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. He looked over to meet Dean's gaze. "We'll do it again in two hours."

"Yeah, alright," his brother said gruffly, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Go take a nap," Sam said.

Dean shot him a bland look.

"I'm serious, Dean. You probably gave more than you should have. Sleep off the migraine I know you have so you'll have more strength to give Cas later."

"What if he wakes up?"

"I'll be here."

Dean opened his mouth to protest further, but Sam cut him off.

"I didn't give as much as you just did. I'll nap after round two, okay?"

Dean's shoulders finally slumped. "Okay," he murmured. He cast one last aggrieved look at Cas, and then tore himself away.

Sam set the spell bowl on the nightstand and wrapped a bandana around his palm. At least they wouldn't have to bleed anew each time they did this.

He then proceeded to take Cas's shoes off, and his tie. Frowning, he placed the back of his hand to Cas's cheek. Sam hadn't noticed with the warm glow from the energy transfer, but Cas felt cold. So he left the trench coat on, and grabbed a blanket from the closet to spread over the angel. Then he settled back in the chair and simply watched the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest. He hoped the spell had done  _something_ , but maybe it was just too early to tell.

He ended up falling asleep, and was later jolted awake by Dean prodding his shoulder. His brother didn't chastise him for it, though, just roughly asked,

"Anything?"

Sam grimaced. If Cas had woken up at all, he'd missed it, because the angel's eyes were closed just as they had been before. Sam glanced at the clock on the dresser. "Is it time?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You wanna go first?"

Sam straightened in the chair and reached for Cas's hand under the blanket. He had to say the activation word to start the spell again, but it was a much quicker procedure this time without the ritual bloodletting and mixing of everything. Sam figured they could get several hours out of it before they might have to redo the casting with fresh ingredients.

The same soft glow suffused faintly underneath the blanket, and Sam felt energy swimming down through his arm and into the angel. Again, he waited for the headache to start up again, and then counted to ten for good measure since he it was his turn to go to bed right after this anyway. Then he finally let go.

Before standing up and trading places with Dean, though, Sam reached out to lay the back of his hand against Cas's face, checking his temperature. He did feel a little warmer.

Sam stood up and backed away, squinting against the throbbing pulse in his forehead. He'd have to pop some pain relievers.

Dean took his seat and said the incantation as he took Cas's hand. Sam stayed to make sure Dean didn't overdo it as he was wont to attempt.

Halfway through what Sam figured was the safest amount of time, Cas's eyelids started to flutter. Dean instantly straightened, and squeezed Cas's hand harder, as though that would give him that extra jolt he needed to fully wake.

Sam came around the other side of the bed and sat on the edge. "Cas?"

Cas's eyes slowly opened, and for a moment, his gaze was as bleary and distant as it had been the times before, but then he turned his head a micro-fraction to his left. "Dean?" he rasped.

Dean nearly sagged in relief. Or exhaustion, as he was still holding on with the energy transfusion. "Cas, hey," he breathed. "How you feeling?"

Cas didn't respond right away, and he looked to still be pretty out of it.

"Dean," Sam said quietly in warning.

Dean's jaw visibly tightened, but he slowly extricated his hand, cutting off the flow. He was already looking a little haggard, and Sam himself felt like his bone marrow had been turned to jelly. But he stayed put.

"Cas?" he prompted again, desperately needing to know what they were doing was helping at all, before he headed to get his own rest.

Cas lolled his gaze toward him, a slight pinch forming between his brows. "Is this…the bunker?" he asked weakly.

"Yeah, you're home," Sam assured him. "And Dean and I are trying to help you get better. Is it working? Can you tell?"

Cas gazed blankly at him for a prolonged beat. "What?"

Sam tried to bite back his disappointment. The fact that Cas was awake and talking at  _all_  was a good sign. He'd take it.

Dean apparently thought the same, because he said, "It's okay. Go back to sleep."

For a moment, Cas looked as though he wanted to ask more questions, but exhaustion was tugging him back under fast. "Alright," he mumbled, eyelids sliding closed again.

Sam's shoulders slumped, and he exchanged a look with his brother. "Two hours," he said.

Dean nodded.

"I mean it, Dean. Don't try to do it sooner."

"I won't." Dean leaned back in the chair. "And it's working. Right?"

"Yeah, it is." Sam knew he'd be able to rest more easily, now that they knew for certain.

He went back to his own room and set his alarm for two hours, not fully trusting Dean to come get him when it was time, but rather to take on the job of giving Cas an energy transfusion on his own.

Yet when Sam returned after sleeping pretty hard for those two hours, Dean hadn't started without him.

"He started shifting in his sleep," Dean reported. "Didn't wake up again, though."

Sam didn't say anything. Again, it was progress, however minute.

Without further ado, Dean uttered the spell and clasped Cas's hand again. Sam was suddenly struck with an idea, and he went over to Cas's other side, sitting down on the edge of the bed again and taking Cas's other hand to also do the spell at the same time. Golden light permeated the air around the bed, lighting Cas's pale features with a warm wash.

Cas's face suddenly scrunched up, and his eyelids blinked open dazedly. He glanced between Sam and Dean in confusion, which then morphed into alarm. "Wh-what are you doing?"

They both let go of Cas's hands, dousing the soft aura.

"Trying to help you heal," Dean said. "Soul energy is powerful, right?"

Cas's eyes widened, and he continued to look back and forth between them in dismay. "I don't understand. You mean  _your_  souls…?"

"We found a spell that channels that kind of energy," Sam explained. "We've been giving you steady doses, since you seemed pretty hurt by that spell the hunter did, after he…um, exorcised you."

Cas continued to gape at them. "Why?"

"His wife became an angel's vessel, and he'd made it his mission to—"

"No," Cas interrupted. "Not that. Why are you doing such a draining spell?"

"Because you looked like you were dying," Dean said with a sharp edge.

Cas closed his eyes, but not before Sam caught a flash of remembered pain. "I wasn't…dying," he said softly, and in a way that was not at all convincing.

"Still wasn't gonna just let you suffer," Dean replied, and then swallowed. "It was my fault Eric trapped you. I shouldn't have trusted him to stop. I know the kind of desire for revenge that was driving him, and- and I was stupid enough to mention we were friends with an angel. I gave him you as a target, and I'm so damn sorry, Cas."

Cas slowly opened his eyes, but kept his gaze fixedly on the ceiling. "He was a hunter," he said in resignation.

Dean frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That of course you trusted him," Cas said tiredly, and not without a note of bitterness. "He was one of your own."

Sam's mouth turned down. That didn't mean anything. Hell, they'd had their run-ins with some bad-news hunters in the past.

Dean was silent for a moment. "I trust  _you_ , Cas."

The angel let out a soft snort. "Past—and recent—events would say otherwise," he said with a slight wheeze.

Sam shot his brother a pointed look. Now was the time to finally deal with their crap and get past it, whether Dean liked it or not. Because they'd never know when it might end up being too late.

Dean reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, then leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs. "Cas, I don't like how the whole Billie thing went down. Okay? I know you think you were doing the right thing. And I'm not  _mad_." His expression pinched with barely concealed distress. "I'm worried. Because things like 'cosmic consequences' have a habit of biting us in the ass."

Cas sighed. "I know they do." He lifted an earnest gaze to meet theirs. "But I don't regret what I did, even if it costs me my life."

Sam had to swallow a surge of frustration. "Don't say that, man," he said. He'd just watched Cas nearly die; he didn't want to go through that again. Just like Cas didn't want to watch them die. "You said you don't want us sacrificing ourselves; well, we don't want you doing that, either."

"Protecting you two is my role," Cas protested. "I don't have a place, a purpose, without that."

"That's not true," Dean argued. "You're family."

Cas just gave him a wan look. "I appreciate the sentiment, Dean, but it's not reality."

Dean visibly bristled. "Excuse me?"

"Cas," Sam jumped in before his brother could get too defensive. "What are you talking about? Of course we mean it."

"I know you mean it, in a way," Cas said, avoiding their eyes. "But I'm not human. That- that hunter was right; I'll never  _really_  belong among you. And I'm not really an angel anymore, either. At least, not like the other angels in Heaven. I- I don't truly belong anywhere."

Sam's heart clenched. Cas didn't really think that, did he? But of course he did. And why wouldn't he? He'd lived for billions of years in Heaven, and the other angels had kicked him out—multiple times, in fact. Sam suddenly wondered whether Cas was still an outcast after what happened with Lucifer. He realized with sinking soberness that Cas probably wasn't welcome in Heaven at all anymore. And his experience with the Winchesters hadn't exactly been all rainbows and butterflies this whole time, either.

"Cas," Sam urged, "you do belong here. And yeah, you've changed, but it's all been for the better."

"And you've always been a better angel than the rest of those dicks," Dean added.

Cas furled his hands into fists. "But I'll always just be that to you, won't I? Just an angel. You couldn't have cared less about Benjamin's death, just like you've never cared about Heaven's problems in the past. You put down my brothers and sisters yet call  _me_  family, but what you really mean is you tolerate me, despite the fact that I'm an angel."

"What? That's not what I—"

"Or maybe you only see me as an angel when it's convenient for you," Cas barreled on. "When you need some extra power, or a tool. And then when you don't need that, I'm…I don't know what. An incompetent hunter. A screw-up…" His chest started to heave with labored breaths, and his pallor suddenly turned a shade whiter. "You use me, just like Heaven does," he wheezed.

Dean's expression had gone slack, and Sam internally winced at the impassioned indictment. He'd had no idea Cas felt this way, had never seen Cas let his emotions out like this, and while the verbal barbs stung…Sam had to admit that there was truth behind them. And that was on both  _him_  and Dean.

Sam reached out to clasp Cas's shoulder as the angel laid back against the pillow, breathing heavily from the rapid onset of exhaustion. It was probably good he was finally getting it all out, but Sam didn't want Cas relapsing.

"We're sorry, Cas," he said sincerely. "We…we've made mistakes. With you. With each other." He flashed Dean a warning look to keep his temper in check. "But you're not a tool to us. And I'm sorry for all the times we made you feel like you were."

Cas averted his gaze.

Dean leaned forward and squeezed the angel's forearm. "Don't you get it, man? Losing you would be like losing Sam. And I wouldn't be able to take it." He paused. "Maybe I never really got it, in my head, that you're not just a guy with super powers. And you're right, there have been plenty of times where I ignored your problems if they had to do with Heaven. Because I've never stopped being pissed about them rigging the Apocalypse, about what Sam went through because of that."

A spiky lump gathered in Sam's throat.

Dean shook his head. "But I shouldn't have taken it out on you, and that's on me. I'm gonna try to do better. Because you are not 'just an angel.' You're my brother, and I am never turning my back on you again."

Cas closed his eyes against what looked like an overwhelming swell of emotion. "You- you have to know, that you're my family too." He tried to quirk a wry smile, but it came out more as a pained grimace. "The only one that will have me."

"We're lucky to have you," Sam put in.

They fell silent, save for Cas's audibly shallow breathing.

Sam looked at Dean. "I think we can give a little more. And then it's your turn to sleep."

Cas furrowed his brow. "A little more…oh, no, you don't need to do that. I'm much better than I was."

"Yeah, but you still look like crap," Dean said.

"I'll be fine, in time," Cas protested.

"Sooner, if you let us help you," Dean countered.

Cas huffed out a small sigh. "I- I've gotten by on my own for a long while now, Dean. And my grace will recover on its own."

Dean pierced him with a sober, older brother look that Sam was well familiar with. "But you shouldn't have to. You  _don't_  have to. Like you said, I haven't been good about acknowledging what an angel needs. What you need. I'm gonna do better. And since Sam and I actually have a way to help you right now, you're gonna let us. Because that's what family does."

Sam gave Cas a firm look as well, to which the angel fidgeted uncomfortably, but couldn't seem to come up with further arguments.

"Please don't hurt yourselves," Cas muttered.

Sam smiled. He'd been proud of how Dean had followed the pacing he'd set, so as to make sure that didn't happen. "Don't worry, Cas," he said. "We look after each other."

All three of them.

* * *

Ketch poured some sugar into his teacup and stirred it thoroughly before lifting it to take a dainty sip. He grimaced. It was so hard to find good tea in this backwoods country. He proceeded to add more sugar, and glanced up when the gentleman sitting across from him began to jiggle his leg, thereby rattling the table.

Ketch sighed, and set the sugar container down. "I'm sorry, now what was it you wanted to discuss?"

"I need another Hyperbolic Pulse Generator."

Ketch arched an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened to the one we provided to you?"

Mr. Dunn scowled, contorting the muscles of his right cheek mottled in an array of colors. He folded his arms across the tabletop as he leaned in. "It was destroyed by some other hunters. Angel-loving scum," he spat. "If I see those two again, I'm gonna give 'em what they deserve."

Ketch straightened, his instincts piqued. "Well, then, tell me the story."

He listened to Mr. Dunn recount his escapade, and was not surprised to discover that the 'angel-loving' hunters the man had tangled with were the Winchesters. There were no other hunters who had an angel in their pocket, that the British Men of Letters were aware of from their intel.

"I see," he said when Mr. Dunn had finished. Pushing his now empty teacup aside, he rose from the diner table. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Mr. Dunn frowned, but stood to follow him outside and around back to where Ketch had parked his vehicle away from the rest of the lot and view from the road or any windows. He used the remote fob in his pocket to pop the trunk on their approach.

"Thanks," Mr. Dunn was saying behind him. "Without that pulse generator, I'd have a much harder time hunting angels."

"Mhm-hmm," Ketch mumbled as he leaned into the trunk. "Here's the thing, Mr. Dunn, you shouldn't have gone after that particular angel."

"Excuse me?"

Keeping his back turned to the incompetent, American hunter, Ketch picked up the silencer and screwed it onto his gun. "The British Men of Letters are aware of the angel that runs with the Winchesters, and it's a valuable asset we intend to utilize in the future."  _More valuable than you_.

Mr. Dunn began to sputter his outrage and protest, but Ketch paid him no mind as he turned around and shot him point blank between the eyes. The body dropped with a thud and little fuss, and Ketch swiftly and efficiently set about wrapping it in tarp so as to dispose of it. He'd have to report the loss of an asset to his superiors, but at least it wasn't the one they had their eye on—and were more keen on keeping.


End file.
